


Comparative Data

by flurblewig



Category: Angel The Series
Genre: Angst, Dubious Consent, F/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-16
Updated: 2010-01-16
Packaged: 2017-10-06 08:22:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flurblewig/pseuds/flurblewig
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>S5, post Origin.  Illyria's been satisfying her sexual curiosity in unexpected places.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Comparative Data

He grabs her by the throat and slams her into the wall with enough force to dislodge chunks of plaster. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" he snaps out, keeping his voice low. Dangerous.

 

She blinks at him, those alien eyes so calm and indifferent, then grips his wrist. She squeezes, increasing the pressure until he knows that he has to let go or his wrist will break.

 

He releases her. Understands that he's not the dangerous one, here.

 

"Your question is vague," she says. "Clarify."

 

He rubs his aching wrist and takes a step backwards. "My son. Connor. What do you think you're doing with my _son?"_

 

Another cold, reptilian blink. How could he ever have thought she looked like Fred?

 

"The interaction is called sexual intercourse. You know this. Why are you bothering me with pointless questions?"

 

"Why am I - " he stops, and begins to pace. It does nothing to quiet his screaming nerves. "I am _bothering_ you because this is my son you're having sex with. My son. Do you understand that?"

 

"Of course. It is not important."

 

He whirls back to face her. "Yes, it is. It is very. Fucking. Important. Listen to me, Illyria. You will leave my son alone. Is that clear?"

 

"Yes"

 

"Good. I'm glad we understand each other."

 

"Obviously, we do not. Your statement is clear, yes. But it is inaccurate."

 

"Stay away from my son. Or -"

 

"Or what?" She sounds interested, not aggressive; it's not meant to be a threat. He wishes it had been - he would have felt on firmer ground, then. Threats he understands. This thing, that looks like his dead friend and fucks his son like it's some kind of science project, he doesn't understand. He doesn't understand that at all.

 

"Or there'll be consequences," he finishes, wincing at how weak that sounds even to his own ears.

 

"That is a redundant observation. All actions have consequences."

 

Frustration curls his hands into fists and he has to make a conscious effort to keep them by his side. Getting into a fight isn't going to solve this; violence isn't exactly a deterrent to her. Does she have a better nature to appeal to? He doesn't know, but decides to try it anyway. He's running out of options.

 

"You're right, you're right. So think about it - what you're doing to Connor has consequences, too."

 

She puts her head on one side as she considers this, then gives a tiny shrug. "He always appears satisfied. When I -"

 

Angel puts up his hand. Fast. "No details. For the love of God, no details. Look, you're just going to have to take my word for this, but what you are doing to him is wrong. Please, Illyria. Stop this. Stop hurting my son."

 

"Your words make no sense. The boy is not harmed by my actions."

 

"Not physically, maybe. I know he's strong. But mentally, emotionally - it isn't good for him. I went to a lot of trouble to give him a normal life. He has that, now. But by no stretch of the imagination can it include any kind of _relationship_ with you."

 

She stares at him, then gives another of those almost-imperceptible shrugs. "I require a body to partner me in my experiments. The identity of it matters little." She nods. "It is true that comparative data may be useful. Very well, you may replace the boy." She holds out her hand. "Come, we will begin."

 

Now it's his turn to stare. "I - what?"

 

"You begin to try my patience, vampire. Is your hearing impaired?"

 

"No, my hearing isn't _impaired._ But your brain must be, if you think I'm going to - to have sex with you."

 

"You will not be damaged. I give you my word."

 

"Illyria, that's not - I'm not worried about being damaged. That's not it."

 

"Then what is the impediment?" She lowers the hand she was holding out to him, and runs it down her body. "I am desirable, am I not?"

 

He backs up a step. "Don't. Don't do that."

 

She moves forward, closing the distance between them. "This body appeals to you. So why does the idea of intimacy with it disturb you?"

 

"Because - look, it just does, okay?"

 

"No. That is insufficient information. Is it the thought of being with me? Or her?"

 

_Fred. Sweet, shy, gentle Fred_. No. He can't think about that. "You're not her. You're nothing like her."

 

"I can be, if that is what you desire."

 

"No. No, that is not what I fucking desire."

 

She sighs, and waves a hand. "You weary me. Choose, now: accommodate me, or I will go to Wesley. He will accede, and he _will_ be damaged."

 

He shakes his head. "No. Wes wouldn't - he wouldn't touch you. Not like that."

 

She smiles then, if you can call it that. Shows her even, white teeth. "I would not have expected such squeamishness in one so renowned for excess. Nor such lack of perception. If you think Wesley will reject me, then your understanding of his nature is surprisingly deficient."

 

"No. Illyria, no. You can't do that to him."

 

"You presume to dictate my conduct?"

 

"No, I just - look, I'm _asking_ you, okay? Leave Wesley out of this. Please."

 

"That is within your control. Offer yourself, and I will not need to use him."

 

She walks towards him again, her step purposeful and her eyes fixed on his. Determination and surety give her movements a strange kind of grace that Fred had never possessed. This time, he doesn't back away.

 

"Why?" he asks, as cool fingers reach out and run over the planes of his face. "Why are you doing this?"

 

"Intimacy is a powerful desire in this world. The act, and its attendant emotions, are strong motivators. I need to understand it."

 

"So that you can use it against us?"

 

Smooth, dry lips brush his. "Perhaps."

 

He stands still while her hands slide down the front of his shirt. She looks at the buttons for a second then rips the material apart.

 

"I lack patience with these garments," she says, and he draws in an involuntary breath as her hands continue their journey downwards. Wanting to save his jeans from the same fate as the shirt, he reaches down and unbuckles the belt. Unzips, then pauses. Waits for some kind of sanity to reassert itself.

 

"Continue," she says, watching him with evident interest.

 

_You're doing this for Conno_r, he thinks. _For Wesley_.

 

He still feels sick, even as his cock swells and hardens in his jeans.

 

"I said continue."

 

He takes his cock in his hand, and she reaches out and trails a finger along it from base to tip. He shudders. She drops to her knees, shockingly, unexpectedly, and her tongue retraces the line her finger had drawn as he tries not to think about how and where she learned to do this. He watches his cock disappear between those blue-tinted lips, and a hissing breath escapes his clenched teeth. His hands move of their own accord and tangle themselves in her hair; guiding her head, trying to create rhythm. She resists the first push, then relents and allows him to direct her.

 

He closes his eyes but that's worse because now his vision is filled with images of Fred and Connor, Fred on her knees, her pretty mouth around Connor's cock, around his own cock, Fred on her knees for him, sucking him, taking him deep in her throat and he tells himself no, he never thought about her like that but he's a liar, always has been, and yes he wanted her, yes he thought about her naked, of course he did, naked and riding him, screaming his name, pretty sweet Fred with his cock in her mouth and Illyria scrapes her teeth hard along his skin and he's lost.

 

He comes with a wordless cry as fear, disgust, and desire swirl around his clouded brain until he can no longer tell which is which.

 

And maybe that's how it's always been.

 

 

\- End -


End file.
